


It Would Kill Me

by StBridget



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 12:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8578390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StBridget/pseuds/StBridget
Summary: Mac shouldn't have to have Jack's back.  And he sure as hell shouldn't be lying in a hospital bed, clinging desperately to life, because Jack did something stupid and let himself be captured.





	

**Author's Note:**

> MacGyver is property of CBS and its creators.
> 
> This was supposed to be a tag to 1.8, Corkscrew, then I decided to build off it in a different setting, then it morphed into this. This is by far the angstyest thing I've written in over 150 stories. I won't say enjoy, but. . .

Jack sat by Mac's hospital bed, willing him to wake up. He didn't know how long he—they—had been there, only that it was too long. He hadn't left except when absolutely necessary, hadn't eaten, hadn't even slept except in fits and starts, a few minutes—or a few hours—at a time—he didn't really know. He only knew the room had lightened and darkened multiple times—he'd lost count—and Mac still didn't wake up.

 

At first, it was medically induced. Mac had endured torture, been shot multiple times, one of which was mere centimeters from his heart, and coded at least twice. The doctor had felt it was best to give his body a head start on healing. They'd started bringing Mac out of it at least a day ago, though, maybe more; Jack wasn't sure.

 

Thorton and Riley had both been by multiple times (daily? More often? Jack had no clue), urging Jack to at least take a break and go down to the cafeteria for something to eat, but he always refused. He didn't want to miss any change in Mac's condition, good or bad. The more time went by, the more likely it was for any change to be bad, but Jack refused to give up hope.

 

“You shouldn't be here,” Jack told Mac's still form. “It should have been me. _I_ should be lying there, not you. _I_ should have been watching your back, you shouldn't have been watching mine. I shouldn't have been so stupid.”

 

Jack had been duped by a pretty girl at a bar, the oldest trick in the book. He was a seasoned agent; he should have known better, but noooooo, he'd fallen for her charms, let her buy him a drink, gotten roofied, and woken up tied to a chair in a dark, dank, windowless, concrete room lit only by one bare bulb. It couldn't have gotten more cliched if you tried.

 

She'd wanted his secrets. Jack had a lot of them, both from his time in the CIA and from his time with the Phoenix Foundation. He also knew how to keep his mouth shut, even under torture, and his captor (he never did even get her name, dammit) tried his endurance to the limit. He was waterboarded, electrocuted, burned, cut, and just plain beaten, but Jack refused to break. He might go down, but he'd be damned if he was taking anyone else with him.

 

Rescue was the last thing that crossed Jack's mind. He was the muscle—he was supposed to rescue everyone else, they weren't supposed to rescue him. He was expendable, not like Mac or even Riley. There was no way they would come rescue him. Jack didn't even _want_ them to. He could pay the price for his own stupidity, but he'd die before he let anyone hurt them. But then, wasn't that what he was doing?

 

His captor was getting tired, or bored, Jack could tell. She'd abandoned more creative methods and resorted to brute force. When Jack didn't break under that—and he wouldn't—she'd just shoot him. Jack found himself wishing she'd get it over with already. He was _proud_ of the life he'd lived, and he would much rather die in the field, even if it was in some godforsaken basement, alone and forgotten, than die a peaceful death of old age. Jack's only regret was never telling Mac how he felt about him.

 

Speaking of Mac, now Jack was hallucinating. When he emerged from the haze of pain caused by his captor wrenching his shoulder out of its socket, Jack swore the younger man stood over him. The vision was saying, something, but it took too much effort for Jack to focus on what it was saying.

 

“You're not really here,” he told the hallucination. “You're her, pretending to be you, to get me to talk. But it won't work. I'm not going to talk. Not to you, not to her, not to anyone. You're just going to have to kill me.”

 

The imaginary Mac knelt in front of Jack, lips still moving. Jack had a feeling it was important, so he focused hard and was just able to make out some of the words. “---going to hurt you...Rescue you….”

 

Jack caught movement behind not-Mac. “Maybe you're not, but she is,” he said. He passed out as an arm raised a gun and brought it down on Mac's skull.

 

When Jack surfaced again, Mac was still in the room, and Jack was beginning to think he wasn't imagining it after all. But what was the kid doing here? He shouldn't be coming after Jack. It was too dangerous, and Jack wasn't worth it. Damn Mac. Jack was going to kill Mac if they ever got out of here. After he kissed him.

 

Gradually, Jack became aware of a third person in the room. His captor was there, having a heated discussion with Mac. Jack wasn't sure what they were saying, but he had a feeling it was about him. He let out an involuntary moan, and the woman turned to him.

 

“Good, you're awake. Since you seem to have no sense of self-preservation, maybe you'll talk to save your friend.”

 

“Don't listen to her, Jack,” Mac cried. “Don't tell her anything!”

 

“Have a martyr complex, do you?” she sneered. “We'll see how long that lasts.” She produced a cattle prod and touched it to Mac's now-bare chest. He gritted his teeth but refused to cry out.

 

“You'll have to do better than that,” Mac spat.

 

Her face twisted in a cruel grin. “Oh, don't worry. I've just gotten started.” She prodded him again, harder. Mac still didn't make a sound, so she did it again. And again. And again.

 

After the sixth time, Jack couldn't take it any more. “Stop!” he cried. “Stop! I'll talk! Just don't hurt him!”

 

“What?!?” Mac was astounded. “No, Jack! Don't tell her anything!”

 

“You shut up!” the woman snarled. The gun was back in her hand, and she struck Mac in the face with it. His head rocked back, and he spit out blood and what looked like a couple of tooth fragments. Mac glared at her but said nothing.

 

“I can't let her hurt you, Mac,” Jack said. “I told you before, it would kill me if anything happened to you on my watch. I can't let that happen. I love you, Mac.” There, it was out. That was his last regret. Now Jack could die at peace with himself.

 

Mac seemed shocked, unable to say anything. That was okay. Jack didn't expect him to return his feelings; he just had to get it off his chest.

 

“Aw, how sweet. I'm touched.” She leveled the gun at Mac. “Now, talk or I shoot him.”

 

“Not a chance, bitch.” Before Jack could react to Mac's outburst, the kid was free and lunging at her. Jack blinked, trying to comprehend the situation. Mac must have done one of his complicated tricks to get out of his bonds. But why hadn't he done it sooner and avoided all this? Those thoughts clouded Jack's mind, and too late he took in the gun firing at Mac, point-blank, once, twice, three times. Mac went down, and fury clouded Jack's vision.

 

Before Jack even knew what he was doing, he'd broken free and lunged across the room at the woman. He barely registered the gun firing again, this time at him, the bullet lodging in his good shoulder, before he was on her. He wasted no time and broke her neck cleaning in one swift motion, not even noticing the pain.

 

That matter taken care of, Jack turned to Mac, lying on the floor, gasping for breath. “Fuck!” Jack cursed. He knelt by his friend, the love of his life. Blood was gushing from three gaping holes on Mac's chest, and his breath was raspy, indicating a likely punctured lung. Jack looked around and found Mac's discarded shirt (his own was long gone). He bundled the cloth up and pressed it desperately to Mac's wounds. “Dammit, Mac, don't die on me!”

 

Mac put a hand on Jack's arm, trying to say something. “Don't talk, Mac. Just hang in there.”

 

“Have to. Have to tell you. I love you, too. It would kill me, too.”

 

Jack's heart soared, but he couldn't deal with that now. He arranged Mac's hands across his chest, putting pressure on the cloth. “Just stay there. Don't move. I'm going to call for help.”

 

Jack sent up a prayer as he searched the dead woman's pockets. Someone must have been listening, because he found her phone and punched in a familiar number. “Mac's dying! Need help, now!”

 

Jack tossed the phone aside and turned back to Mac. The younger man's eyes were glazing over, and his breath was becoming more and more labored. “Hang in there, Mac. Help is on the way.”

 

Mac shook his head. “Not going to make it.”

 

Jack refused to give up. “Sure you are, kid. You're tough. I know you can do it.”

 

“No. . .” Mac said with a last gasp as his heart stopped.

 

Jack immediately began compressions. “You are not pulling this shit on me, Mac, do you hear me? I will not let you do this. You are not going to fucking die on me, dammit!”

 

Jack wasn't sure how long he kept it up before he felt a faint beat under his hand. “Thank god,” he breathed. “Just keep hanging in there.”

 

At that moment, the paramedics arrived. They shoved Jack to one side, and he rested his hands on his knees, the adrenaline leaving him in a whoosh and leaving him dizzy. Somebody was hovering over him again, saying something, but once again, Jack couldn't hear them. Jack shook his head to show he didn't understand. The person held something up, and Jack shook his head again. He felt a prick in his arm, and the world went black.

 

When Jack came to, it was to the beeping of monitors and a wave of intense pain. It took him a minute to absorb his surroundings. _Hospital_ , he realized. Then, _where's Mac_?

 

A nurse came in. “I see you're awake. How are you feeling?”

 

“Mac,” Jack said without preamble. “Angus MacGyver. How is he?”

 

The nurse's face was blank. “Mr. MacGyver is in critical condition. I'm concerned about how you are.”

 

Jack ignored her. “I want to see him.”

 

“Now, Mr. Dalton,” the nurse began, “I don't think.”

 

“I don't think I made myself clear,” Jack said, struggling to get out of bed. He realized his left shoulder was immobilized, and everything hurt, but he persevered. “I _will_ see him. Now, tell me where he is.”

 

The nurse argued with him some more, and finally called a doctor, but Jack refused to be swayed. “Alright. If it means you'll stop fighting us and take care of yourself, you can see him. _Briefly_.”

 

Jack had acquiesced. After reviewing his own injuries with the doctor (through and through bullet wound to the left shoulder, also dislocated, rotator cuff shredded, may never regain full use, multiple cuts and bruises), Jack was wheeled to Mac's room with the strict injunction to only stay five minutes and go back to bed.

 

Jack hadn't left, though. He didn't care about his own injuries, didn't care that he might never return to the field. Nothing mattered if Mac didn't make it. Riley and Thornton told him he was a hero, but Jack didn't believe them. They told him the doctors didn't know how he'd managed to break his bonds, strangle the woman, and tend to Mac's wounds in the shape he was in, never mind that it had probably caused even more damage to the shoulder and shattered any chance it would ever be useable again. Jack just shrugged. “Adrenaline's an amazing thing.” “You saved him, Jack,” they'd said. But he hadn't. Not yet. If Mac woke up, it would be worth it. If he didn't, Jack didn't care because he didn't want to live without Mac.

 

“I wasn't kidding,” Jack told the man in the bed. “If you don't wake up, it _will_ kill me. So, you have to wake up. Do you hear me, buddy? _Wake up_.” Tears ran down the older man's face and dripped onto Mac.

 

Mac stirred. At first, Jack thought he was imagining it, but Mac moved again, and his eyes fluttered open. “Jack?”

 

Jack smiled through his tears. “Yeah, kid, I'm here. I'm glad you decided to join us.”

 

“Had to.” Mac reached out for Jack's good hand, which Jack willing gave him. “Kill me if anything happened to you.”

 

Jack lifted Mac's hand and pressed it to his lips. He wished he could do more, wanted to do nothing except smash their lips together and never surface again, need for oxygen be damned. Neither of them was up to that, though. And there would be time. Lots of time, Jack hoped. “Guess we'll both have to live then, hunh?”

 

Mac smiled weakly back at him. “Guess so.”

**Author's Note:**

> My other stories are mostly Hawaii Five-0 fluff at Fanfiction .net, also under StBridget.


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